son," answered the jailer.

"Tom," continued Kneebone, calling to the shop-boy, "don't go home. I
may want you. Light the lantern. And, if you hear any odd noise in the
parlour, don't mind it."

"Not in the least, Sir," replied Tom, in a drowsy tone, and with a look
seeming to imply that he was too much accustomed to odd noises at night
to heed them.

"Now, step this way, Mr. What's-your-name?"

"Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer.

"Very well, Mr. Slipshod; follow me." And he led the way to an inner
room, in the middle of which stood a table, covered with a large white
cloth.

"Jack Sheppard knows this house, I believe, Sir," observed Shotbolt.

"Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. "He _ought_ to do,
seeing that he served his apprenticeship in it to Mr. Wood, by whom it
was formerly occupied. His name is carved upon a beam up stairs."

"Indeed!" said Shotbolt. "Where can I hide myself?" he added, glancing
round the room in search of a closet.

"Under the table. The cloth nearly touches the floor. Give me your
staff. It'll be in your way."

"Suppose he brings Blueskin, or some other ruffian with him," hesitated
the jailer.

"Suppose he does. In that case I'll help you. We shall be equally
matched. You're not afraid, Mr. Shoplatch."

"Not in the least," replied Shotbolt, creeping beneath the table;
"there's my staff. Am I quite hidden?"

"Not quite;--keep your feet in. Mind you don't stir till supper's over.
I'll stamp twice when we've done."

"I forgot to mention there's a trifling reward for his capture," cried
Shotbolt, popping his head from under the cloth. "If we take him, I
don't mind giving you a share--say a fourth--provided you lend a helping
hand."

"Curse your reward!" exclaimed Kneebone, angrily. "Do you take me for a
thief-catcher, like Jonathan Wild, that you dare to affront me by such a
proposal?"

"No offence, Sir," rejoined the jailer, humbly. "I didn't imagine for a
moment that you'd accept it, but I thought it right to make you the
offer."

"Be silent, and conceal yourself. I'm about to ring for supper."

The woollen-draper's application to the bell was answered by a very
pretty young woman, with dark Jewish features, roguish black eyes, sleek
glossy hair, a trim waist, and a remarkably neat figure: the very model,
in short, of a bachelor's housekeeper.

"Rachel," said Mr. Kneebone, addressing his comely attendant; "put a few
more plates on the table, and bring up w